


Salvage the Night

by stardropdream



Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Bondage, Implied Sexual Content, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-07
Updated: 2016-06-07
Packaged: 2018-07-12 23:30:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,090
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7128371
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stardropdream/pseuds/stardropdream
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Porthos opens the door to Aramis' room—</p><p>—and Aramis is naked and tied to the bed.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Salvage the Night

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the prompt, "Porthos walks in and find Aramis bound and gagged, and the sight of that does something to Porthos he didn't realize he likes." It doesn't follow that prompt to the T since I tend to avoid more overtly sub/dom dynamics in favor of making them sillier nerds.

He’s heading towards Aramis’ room if only because he never showed up for their traditional evening of drinking in the tavern with d’Artagnan and Athos. It isn’t the first time this has happened – things do happen, after all – but usually Aramis will mention if he isn’t going to make it. It isn’t that Porthos is worried – alright, maybe he’s a little worried – but it’s always good to double-check to make sure he’s not ill or managed to fling himself out a few too many windows and break his back. The path to Aramis’ room is familiar and unhurried, despite the nibbling of worry at the base of his stomach, and he reaches Aramis’ door easily, not bothering to knock as he grasps the handle to test the lock. Unlocked. 

Porthos opens the door to Aramis' room—

—and Aramis is naked and tied to the bed. 

Porthos pauses to assess this. He stares at Aramis for a moment, who for all intents and purposes seems relatively unconcerned about both his state of undress and his predicament. Both wrists and ankles are tied up with fabric, and he’s blindfolded. He lifts his head a bit at the door opening, tilting his head – clearly listening for who it is.

He smiles a moment later at the sound of footsteps, recognizing him from the heavy set of his footfalls. “Porthos?” 

“Yeah,” Porthos says, letting the door close behind him as he walks over towards him. “What the hell are you doing?” 

“Madame was here earlier,” Aramis says with a sad little sniff. 

Porthos snorts, and the worry sinks away from him as he stops at the edge of Aramis’ bed. Aramis’ head is still tilted, following the sounds Porthos makes, utterly relaxed despite his position. He’s straining to listen, but he’s tilted in the right direction to where Porthos is standing. 

“I’m pretty sure she’s never done this to you before,” Porthos points out. He sets down the candle he carried through the alcoves to get to Aramis’ room. 

“Oh no, that’s true,” Aramis says, primly. “She’ll usually untie me before she leaves.” 

“How long have you been like this?” Porthos asks. 

“Ah… hm,” Aramis hums. “I admittedly fell asleep for a while. I’m not sure how long it’s been.” 

“The sun’s already set now,” Porthos tells him. He reaches out to grasp at Aramis’ blindfold. Aramis does not flinch as Porthos tugs it off. He blinks a few times as he adjusts to the light of the candle burning down low. 

“Well,” Aramis says. He flexes his wrists a bit, tugging absently at the knots that don’t budge. “I suppose it’s been well over a few hours, then. Madame was here in the early afternoon.” 

Porthos curses, frowning at his wrists. “You must be sore.” 

Aramis shrugs, or shrugs as well as he can, with his arms stretched up above his head. He breathes in steadily, and doesn’t seem at all distressed. In fact, he casts Porthos a gentle little smile. 

“She… ah, did not take kindly to finding another woman’s handkerchief beneath my pillow, it seems,” Aramis says. “I told her I would let her make it up to me and then – well, this. I didn’t realize she’d _leave_.” 

Porthos rolls his eyes. “Tying you up and sticking around wouldn’t actually be a punishment for you.”

Aramis’ eyes sparkle. “Well. Fair point.” 

Porthos rolls his eyes again. Aramis chuckles, and there’s a flush to his cheeks now as he looks up at Porthos. 

“But it seems now I’m saved by a very handsome gentleman,” Aramis says with a grin. 

Porthos snorts out a laugh and sits down on the edge of the bed. He reaches out to untie Aramis’ wrists but Aramis shakes his head to stop him.

“A moment, Porthos,” he says. Porthos pauses, lets his hand fall down to rest against the bed. 

The best that he can, Aramis manages to sit up a little, grinning at Porthos. “I don’t suppose there’s a chance we could salvage this night? I’d hate for this to go to waste.” 

“You can’t be serious,” Porthos laughs out, although he also isn’t saying no. He shakes his head, hitting Aramis with the blindfold, letting it hit his shoulder without any real violence behind it. “You’re ridiculous. You must be exhausted.” 

“Porthos,” Aramis says quietly, in that tone of voice that means that Porthos really isn’t going to say no. He tilts his head up towards him, blinks once, and then his smile softens. 

Porthos gets what he’s after. He sighs out and leans down, kissing him – slow and gentle, hand lifting to cup his cheek and keep it tilted at the right angle. His other hand pushes Aramis back down onto the bed to give him some relief for his spine. Aramis sighs out into the kiss, steadily deepens it. 

When they part again, Porthos presses his forehead to his and Aramis hums out softly, brushing his nose to his. 

“Well, Monsieur?” 

Porthos nips at his bottom lip, feeling the curve of his smile against his. “You sure your shoulders can handle it?” 

Aramis shifts a little beneath him. “I’ll readjust? Move my hands up but keep my ankles untied.” 

Porthos nods, leaning back to do that – releasing Aramis’ legs first, which immediately curl up around Porthos’ waist, to keep him close. Porthos laughs, rubbing his thumbs along his ankles for a moment, massaging away the soreness. Then, at Aramis’ bidding, he reaches for Aramis’ hands to untie them slowly. He rubs his thumbs absently over his wrists. They’re a little raw in places from the long use, but Aramis is insistent about being tied up. He moves his arms so they’re more directly above his head rather than at an angle, and Porthos ties him loosely through the rungs of the headboard. Tight enough to hold him, but looser than Madame left it – loose enough he could tug free if he needed to. He runs his hands down his arms, absently, as Aramis tests the strength of the restraints. 

“Ready?” Porthos asks, hushed, when he looks down at Aramis again to find Aramis smiling up at him – expression soft in the dim light of the flickering candle. 

“Ready,” Aramis says, and lifts his head so Porthos can tie the blindfold back around him. He cups his chin after that, leans in and kisses him slowly and carefully. Aramis tightens his legs around him, draws him down closer. Aramis sighs, “Porthos…” 

Porthos kisses him, drags his hands down over him. The night melts away.


End file.
